Page 4 of Izzy and Her Off-Limits Love

“It’s just software,” I say, deflecting because that’s what I do when I’m nervous, and I’m definitely nervous. “I mean, software that took a year and a lot of money to develop. Not my money—investor money. I don’t have money. I mean, I have money, but I couldn’t just?—”

“Hey.” Izzy smiles, stopping the flow of utter nonsense coming out of my mouth. “Just a thanks will suffice. It really is awesome, and I really am proud of you.”

“Thanks.” An awkward pause follows as I try to recover from my lapse in social skills. I resist the urge to play with my glasses, a nervous tic I’ve tried to quell. Instead, I find myself rubbing the back of my neck and drop my hand.

“Can I sit?” I ask, gesturing to the steps.

“Um, sure.”

Izzy scoots back and tugs at her skirt again as I take a seat beside her. I’ve never seen her in professional workwear, and I like it. A lot, actually.

Maybe because it’s a fun juxtaposition seeing this buttoned-up outside view when I know the wildness underneath. I can picture Izzy leaping off the end of a dock; Izzy with cheeks smeared with dirt after a game of touch football with the family; Izzy, head thrown back, laughing as an ocean breeze whips her hair around her face.

And let’s not forget Izzy in a tiny bikini with sun-soaked skin—an image I spent years trying to scrub from my brain.

With little success, I might add.

I clear my throat, dragging my eyes back up to her face.

“So, the other cool thing about getting your company on board is that I’ll be working here for the next week.”

She turns her face to meet my gaze. Her brown eyes are wide, and she’s blinking more than normal, like it’s helping her brain process.

“Here? Like,herehere? Every day here?”

“Notherein the stairwell, no. But in the conference room. Which might mean more stairwell phone calls for you?”

Izzy doesn’t smile or laugh, so I guess I better hold off on telling her theotherimportant part about me working here—the part that will impact her directly.

If she’s not thrilled about me being here generally, she definitely won’t be happy aboutthat.

But why wouldn’t she be happy I’m here?

This isIzzy.I know I’ve missed a lot over the past year, but if something were off with Izzy, someone would have told me.

Maybe her weird mood is about something else? Could it have to do with her phone call?

Did I interrupt something important? Shewashiding out in a stairwell, after all. And she definitely looks … nervous? Or maybe just uncomfortable? Izzy has never been either of those things around me.

Understanding dawns, along with a fresh wave of disappointment. I’ve been keeping pretty close tabs on Izzy through Mom’s updates and the occasional stalking of her Instagram account. Shewasdating a guy last Christmas, and they were together until she graduated in May, but Mom made it sound like it ended, and Izzy wasn’t all that broken up over it.

It’s been a few months though, so she could absolutely be dating someone new. And why wouldn’t she be? She’s gorgeous, funny, smart. Any guy with a chance would be an idiot not to take it.

What if she is, and she was talking to him?

I fight a wave of frustration, cursing my often overly analytical brain. I haven’t dated at all since I broke up with Natasha, mostly because once I saw her and Izzy together at Christmas, it became obviously apparent that no woman was ever going to measure up to Izzy.

Feelings slammed into me like a punch to the gut. I’d always loved Izzy—we’d known each other since we were kids—but this was different.More.

But I couldn’t start something with Izzy while I was still in New York. I barely kept myself fed while I was getting Make Change off the ground. There was no way I could handle a long-distance relationship, assuming Izzy would have wanted one with me in the first place.

But clearly that was a stupid call because waiting until I could be here in person might mean that I missed my window of opportunity.

I clear my throat and force myself to ask the question bouncing around in my brain like an errant ping-pong ball. “You said you needed a moment for a phone call.” I nudge her knee with mine, hoping the question sounds more casual than it feels. “Talking to a boyfriend?”

“Just a friend,” she quickly answers. “I, um, I’m not seeing anyone right now.” The faintest hint of color rises in her cheeks, and she gives her head a shake. “Sorry. I know I’m still being weird. I’m just surprised to see you.”

I swallow the urge to cheer out loud over her single status and offer her a small smile. “Good surprise, I hope?”

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